The Cullen Chronicles: Alice's Story
by oh.holy.martel
Summary: The Cullen's lives before they met Bella ... dating back to before they were changed. Alice's story. Rated T just to be safe. Alice a bit OOC in earlier chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My second fanfic

**A/N: My second fanfic! I decided to go back into each of the Cullens' past, staying as true to the brief summaries Stephenie Meyer gave as possible, just for fun. I'm starting with Alice, my fave (please do not kill me, Edward fans. I will get to him too.) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, would be able to get these published instead of writing them as fanfic if I did …**

_Aunt Bertha gasped, choking. She coughed and wheezed to no avail as her face turned first red, then purple, and stayed that way as she spasmed one last time and fell back into her bed in the stillness of death. _

Alice woke, gasping, her fists clutching handfuls of sheets and heart hammering crazily. She looked at her sister, who still slumbered on obliviously, and slipped out of bed in her nightgown. She had to tell her parents.

The walk down the hallway to her room was eerily silent, reminding her of the quiet in Aunt Bertha's room. She knew with an unerring certainty that Aunt Bertha would be dead soon, but Mother and Father would be able to fix it. They had to.

Alice had always had visions, known things would happen before they did. She had known when Simon fell out of the apple tree, seen Mary's engagement before it happened. She had, wisely perhaps, kept her visions a secret until now, but she had to tell. For Aunt Bertha. Surely they would believe her?

She cracked open the door and peered at her parents, Mother looking small and careworn and Father stern and commanding even in sleep. Alice felt her palms grow sweaty with fear as she quailed at the thought of waking them. For Aunt Bertha, she reminded herself. For Aunt Bertha …

She went over to her mother first. "Mother?" she said timidly, shaking her shoulder as hard as she dared. "Mother?"

Her mother instinctively threw up a hand to protect her face, and then, as she registered who it was, smiled wearily. "What is it, sweetie?" she asked. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"I had a vision, Mother. Aunt Bertha's going to die."

Her mother didn't seem to know what to do, but then, gathering her strength, said, "I think we should wake your father."

She leaned over and said softly, "Dennis, could you wake up for a second? Alice needs to talk to us."

He threw out an arm, striking her a glancing blow on the face. "Wha—huh," he grumbled, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Womenfolk, disturbing a man's hard-earned rest. What are you doing here, Alice? I thought I told you not to wake us up for nightmares!"

Alice gathered her courage. "It wasn't a nightmare," she said softly. "It was a vision. I saw Aunt Bertha die."

"Nonsense!" her father roared, causing her to flinch. "You just had a realistic nightmare, that's all. Now get back to bed!"

" But Father," Alice said, "it was—"

"Now!"

Alice ran back out into the hallway and into her room, not stopping until she collapsed breathlessly on the bed. She panted, half sobbing, unwilling to believe that her father would have dismissed the death of his sister so offhandedly. How could he not believe her? She fell into a troubled sleep, filled with nightmares in which her father watched, impassive, as Aunt Bertha died again and again, and Alice was powerless to save her.



Alice woke late in the morning, which was odd. Usually her mother would wake them up so they could do the chores. She twisted in bed to look for her sister, but saw only the rumpled covers thrown back where she had gotten out. Hmm. This was getting stranger and stranger.

Alice, weary from the ordeal last night and possessed of a feeling of foreboding she couldn't shake, didn't bounce down the stairs like she usually did. In the kitchen her parents sat at the table, not eating, not talking, just waiting. Waiting, it seemed, for her.

Her mother, lines prominent on the grayness of her face, said, "Sweetie, we got some bad news this morning." She suddenly bent over and started sobbing.

Her throat clenched and stomach gave a lurch. Was it … ? Could it have been … ?

Her father finished, her mother obviously unable to speak. "What your mother is trying to say," he said gruffly, "is that we received the news that Aunt Bertha is dead this morning. She died in the night."

_You likey? No? Revies, or I send the Volturi after you …_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Second chapter

**A/N: Second chapter! Thank you for all the reviews, people, very appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: do not own Twilight, am not a vampire princess, do not dance to the Star Spangled Banner in my undies … lolz.**

Alice grew more and more worried as the day passed. Her parents held strange, whispered conferences that hushed as she entered the room, and they looked at her differently. Like a freak instead of their eldest daughter.

Finally, tense with anticipation, they began the subject at dinner.

"Girls," her father said, after setting down his fork and belching, "there's something we need to talk about."

Mother looked at him, plainly trying to keep from bursting into tears, and then turned to stare mutely at the floor as he went on.

"Alice, your visions, they are not natural. _You_ are not natural. We feel, your mother and I, that the best place for you would be the Saintly Ward Asylum. It is ideally suited to care for … people, like you."

Alice rose, her slender frame quivering with anger. "You think I'm a _freak_? That I'm mad? That I'm not fit to associate with your _normal _daughter and be a part of your _normal_ family anymore?"

Her mother looked at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. Sarah remained riveted to her seat, face white as a sheet. Her father rose menacingly out of his seat, face taking on the properties of a ripe tomato. "You will go to your room, young lady!" he thundered. "And in the morning, I will take you to the asylum myself!"

Alice ran back to her room as quickly as she could, not letting the sobs come until she had closed the door and flung herself on the bed. She cried for the loss of her home and her family and her sister, but mostly she cried for the fact that her parents were not who she had always thought they were. Her mother was weak, not standing up to her father and letting them keep her, and her father must not really love her after all.

The thought chilled her to the bone, making her tears dry up. If that was true, then there was nothing for her here. She would have to make a new life at the asylum, as best she could. Alice, worn from crying, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

_Sorry for such a short chapter … I have to get off the computer and go paly at a stupid concert. Hope you like!_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! (Cringes from blow.) I was just really busy from the end of schoolyear activities and stuff. Please forgive me . . . anyway, here's the third chapter!I should (hopefully) update my other story soon!**

**Disclaimer: I AM SECRETLY STEPHENIE MEYER! AHAHA! Just kidding . . . don't own Alice or the Twilight series . . .**

The morning dawned cold and gray, and Alice pulled the covers over her head as if that would make what had happened last night go away. She remembered what her father had said, his angry words . . . and his promise. She was a part of this family no longer. Her heart shivered at the thought.

And then her mother was at the door, a dim silhouette. She came in quietly, not wanting to wake Cynthia. Alice stared at her balefully, the weak woman who cowered inder her father's slightest word. Who had failed to protect her.

"Wake up, sweetie," her mother said, softly shaking her. "Its time for you to go." _Its time for you to go._ There was an implied menace in her words.

Alice mutely allowed herself to be dressed, as she hadn't since she was small, and walked downstairs without a backward glance at her mother. It was past the time for reconciliation.

She picked at her breakfast, keeping her eyes down to avoid the glare from her father across the table. Finally he stood and snapped, "That's enough! It's past time to go. People will see."

Alice stood as her mother fluttered around her, twittering things like, "Are you sure you don't want to take something extra? . . . A bite to eat . . . One of your books . . ."

"No," Alice said, firm and more than a little cold. "I want nothing from here."

She sat dumbly in the back of the carriage as the wheels ratted on rough cobblestone beneath her, the silence tearing at her like the edge of a knife. Finally she couldn't take it any more and exploded, "How can you do this? I'm your daughter!"

"No," her father's voice was low but passionate, and it hurt more than she could imagine words could hurt. "No, you aren't. My daughter, Mary Alice Brandon, died today. I only have one daughter."

Alice swallowed against the lump in her throat, trying not to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

In no time—or had it been an eternity?—they were at the asylum. Alice opened the door on her own and tumbled out, not helped by her father. As if he would.

The asylum was dark and dank, and Alice could already smell the smell of pain and fear. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

_She was in a dark cell, in the darkness, trapped alone with pain so great she could barely breathe. The shocks still hummed through her body even after the "treatment," and there was nothing but pain and darkness and loneliness. All alone. Alice wished to die, as she always wished now. Death was the only thing left to hope for._

Alice gasped, stumbling and falling against the wall. _A long life in the dark._ That was what awaited her. Her father glanced back, impatiently, and she struggled to continue on like nothing had happened. If this was the last time he would see her, she would be strong. _Daddy's little girl._

The man at the receptionist desk was obviously bored, with alabaster skin unmarred by a single flaw and unnaturally crimson eyes. An albino? But he looked too handsome for that . . .

Her train of thought was interrupted by his voice, musical even at its driest. But somehow making her teeth stand on end . . . "Name of person you'd like to enter into the asylum?"

Her father came to with a start. "Alice," he said. "Mary Alice Brandon."

The man made out the forms, writing quickly in a flawless calligraphy. "Done," he announced to no one in particular. "You're free to go, sir. Visiting hours are from 1 to 5 on Sundays." Then he turned to Alice. "As for you," he said, gazing at her intently and a little hungrily, "I'm afraid you'll have to stay a while . . ."

_Gives you chills, doesn't it? Hope you like it! Hit that lovely little review button and tell me what you think!_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry... forgot to update... (sweatdrop)**

**Disclaimer: If I were Stephenie Meyer, I would get paid for this...**

"Follow me."

Alice blinked. Had he said something? She couldn't concentrate, her thoughts kept breaking off in little swirls as she was stabbed with pangs of betrayal and other emotions. How could her family do this to her? Why did they think there was something wrong with her?

And, most pressing, the thought that if she only hadn't told them about Aunt Bertha, she'd be having her lessons with Cynthia now...

The man began to move away and she went after him mutely, not knowing what else to do. There certainly seemed to be nothing else in this dismal place. _Nothing else but the darkness, only the darkness... _She felt dizzy and sick at the thought.

After an interminable time through dark and winding corridors with the groans and moans of agony emanating from the cells, the man finally stopped. He turned to her, gesturing and flashing a dazzling smile. "Welcome to your new home. You may call me Jacques, and I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such a...delightful thing as you." His eyes caressed her, lingering at her throat.

Alice shuddered at the sheer predatory feel of his gaze, as if she were a captured mouse Kitty wanted to toy with a little longer. Who _was_ he, to make her feel this way?

"Well?" he prompted, tone amused and indulgent, as if speaking to a small child. "I know it's not very inviting, but you'll get used to it soon enough. They all do, in the end." He considered. "Most don't even notice when I take them._"_

Alice stepped inside, too numb to try to make sense of his comments. The darkness jumped out at her, a grotesque reminder of her vision. _And there was nothing but the darkness..._

The man, Jacques, made sure she was standing in a safe area and gave a little bow. "I shall see you again. It would be a shame to waste such a lovely gift." And then he slammed the door shut with a riotous clang, and there was nothing but the darkness.

The days blurred, the pain blurred, even consciousness was a patchwork held together by the darkness. It was the only constant, that and Jacques. his visits were the only light, though he was altruistic and temperamental and smelled of a mystery she had no hope of solving.

Still, in a world that had shrunk to pain and darkness, Alice was immensely grateful for his company.

It was almost a relief to have the visions, now, as they were at least _something _to cling to in this world of nothing. Even pain hardly had any meaning now, to her there was only the darkness and Jacques. her family never visited, of course, she hardly even remembered who they were. even little Cynthia's face had blurred...

Her memories were slipping away one by one, as were any visions but the ones about the darkness. The asylum cell seemed to stifle hope as well as light, and Alice could hardly even remember the world outside. To be out in the sunshine... But that was hope, and there was no hope. Only darkness.

And Jacques.

**Well, sorry it's a bit short, but I promise James will come in the next chapter... have a special truth about him that's really kind of eerie. sorry again for the forever-wait!**

**Review, as always!**


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